Compass
by sbarra
Summary: This is my exploration of some of the main themes of the text and both BBC series. Margaret/Thornton
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Margaret Hale smiled at the new dawn as she walked along Cromer's peaceful beach. At the height of summer, she had arrived to mourn yet another death. Margaret watched the salty water lapping at the warm sand at her feet. She could now think of all of Mr Bell's kindnesses to herself and her dear parents without weeping.

She still cried, sometimes, in the privacy of her own room. Margaret tugged her shawl around her shoulders and kept walking. She had also spent this sojourn by the coast mourning the loss of John Thornton's esteem. She deeply regretted hurting him.

After acquiring the lease on Marlborough Mills, she had thought of visiting Milton. The thought of not being able to bear seeing any look of shame or disdain marring his handsome face had stopped her from purchasing a railway ticket.

"Come away from there at once, Miss!" Dixon suddenly rebuked her. "Yer slippers will be sodden and you'll catch yer death of cold! You mustn't keep the Lennox's waitin, Miss!"

For once, Margaret did not resist Dixon fussing over her as they climbed across the dunes. Instead she smiled and pecked the maid on her cheek.

"What was that for?" Dixon exclaimed, surprised and delighted by the affectionate gesture.

"That was for putting up with me every time I lost my temper or 'moped about' these last months!" Margaret informed her and then fondly held hands with her family's long-suffering servant.

"I'm just doing my duty, Miss," Dixon said. "Your Mamma would..."

"Mamma would be highly pleased by what a kind friend you are to me, Dixon!" Margaret replied, squeezing her hand.

"I'll remember this, Miss," Dixon said, opening the Lennox's carriage door for her. "I'll remember this next time that you tell me to 'hold my tongue' and not 'forget my place.'"

Margaret laughed as she seated herself next to her beautiful cousin.

"That is like music to our ears, is it not, Henry?" Edith hinted at once.

"I am glad that the seashore lifted your spirits, Margaret," he glanced over at her with a studied air of indifference.

Henry then returned his attention to a newspaper. His brother glared at the wall he had put in place, but Henry swatted away Sholto's hand when he tried to grab the broadsheet. Wanting to appease his wife, the Captain sat forward. Ignoring Henry altogether, he began to tell Margaret stories about his 'adventures' in the Mediterranean and on the Continent.

As always happened at these times, Margaret began to ask him more about where Frederick was still in hiding. Edith and Dixon were both soon caught up in Captain Lennox's vivid descriptions of Cadiz.

Margaret forgot all about the jostling of the carriage and looked out at the blur of busy villages and green fields. She longed to see her brother so much. As they neared London, she silently debated the matter with herself once more. Should she use some of her inheritance to travel to Spain?

The fear of his capture gripped Margaret. She shifted uncomfortably in the carriage seat. She could not live with herself, if someone, wanting the reward money, followed her to Cadiz. Just the thought of Fred being ripped away from Dolores and his young children made her feel nauseous. Margaret decided to raise more funds while she waited patiently for Henry to clear Fred's name.

When they returned to her Aunt Shaw's townhouse, Margaret fulfilled one of her sea-side resolves. She resolutely took her life into her own hands. She was a grown woman, who would one day answer to the Lord for what she had done with her life. Margaret was no longer the scared little stranger who had cried herself to sleep that first night in the Harley Street nursery.

In her solemn hours of thought, walking on the shore each morning and evening, she had made a decision. She must not be so docile to her extended family's whims. She did not want to waste hours of her life resenting them.

Margaret now reasoned with her Aunt and tried to settle that most difficult problem for women. How much was to be utterly merged in obedience to authority, and how much might be set apart for freedom in working?

Mrs Shaw was as good-tempered as could be; and Edith had inherited this charming domestic quality. It was actually Margaret who had the worst temper of the three. Her quick perceptions and extremely lively imagination made her hasty. Her early isolation from sympathy made her proud. She was stubborn, but she also had a childlike sweetness of heart. It was this that made her manners irresistible, even in her wilful moods.

Now, chastened even by what the world called her 'good fortune', she charmed her reluctant Aunt Shaw into acquiescing to her desire to let her make her own decisions about how she spent her time. Margaret soon revelled in her prize: the acknowledgment of her right to follow her own ideas of duty.

"Only don't be strong-minded," pleaded Edith, flopping onto the chintz lounge beside her. "Mamma wants you to have a footman of your own; and I am sure you're very welcome, for they are great plagues. Only to please me, darling, don't go and have a strong mind; it's the only thing I ask. Footman or no footman, don't be strong-minded!"

"Don't be afraid, Edith. I'll swoon at the very first opportunity! I'll faint on your hands at the servants' dinner-time, and then, what with the Captain playing with the fire, and the baby crying, you'll begin to wish for a strong-minded woman, equal to any emergency!"

"And you'll let me buy your dresses for you? I am afraid that you shall dress yourself in dust-colours, in remembrance of the dirt you picked up in all those places at..."

"Indeed I mean to buy them for myself - in whatever hue I choose!" Margaret cut in. She realised that she did not even want to hear the word 'Milton' spoken aloud.

"You look ever so sad just now, Margaret," Edith remarked, reaching out to caress her cousin's cheek. "I meant no offence against any of your...friends there."

"I... I took none," Margaret reassured her and then smiled, "I am wiser to my own follies, Edith, but I am still your dear friend. I am going to be just the same. Only as I have neither husband nor child to give me natural duties, I must make myself some, in addition to ordering my gowns."

In the family conclave, which was made up of Edith, her mother, and her husband, it was decided that perhaps all these plans of hers would only secure her the more for Henry Lennox. Mrs Shaw and Edith kept her out of the way of other friends who might have eligible sons or brothers; and it was also agreed that she never seemed to take much pleasure in the society of anyone but Henry.

The other admirers, attracted by her appearance or the reputation of her fortune, were swept away, by her unconscious smiling disdain, into the paths frequented by other wealthy beauties.

Sometimes, Edith noticed Margaret walking over to the window, seemingly forlorn despite an entire drawing room bustling with prestigious guests. She would gaze at Margaret's pale face reflected in the dark window pane and once again redouble her efforts to encourage Henry to renew his addresses to her sad cousin.

That evening as Margaret sighed at the moon, she had no way of knowing that the man she was thinking about - was looking at the same waning silver orb and thinking of her. John Thornton leant against the window frame in his dusty office. He gazed up at the smoke of the factories obscuring all but the brightest stars and the full moon. He sighed, aching to see Margaret, to touch her, but certain that she would never be his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Thornton was hard pressed. He felt it most acutely in his vulnerable Achilles' heel - his pride. Architect of his own fortunes; he believed that commerce gave every brave, honest, and persevering man, the power to raise himself to the top of the heap.

Far away, in the East and in the West, where his person would never be known, his name was to be regarded. His wishes were to be fulfilled; his words pass like gold. That was the idea of merchant-life with which Mr Thornton had started. 'Merchants are like princes,' his mother had told him again and again. He had sought to possess the influence of a name in foreign countries and far-away seas - to become the head of a firm that should be known for generations.

Thornton sighed and rubbed his aching neck. It had taken him long silent years to come even to a glimmering of what he might be now -here in his own town, in his own factory and among his own people. He and they had led parallel lives -very close, but never touching - till the accident (or so it seemed) of his acquaintance with Higgins. Once brought face to face, man to man, with an individual of the masses around him, each had begun to recognise that 'we have all of us one human heart.'

This did not mean that the walls of class divides had tumbled down, but Thornton did feel personally grieved at the possibility of having to lay off more of the workers. He wished that he had someone to confide in about all of this. He could hardly talk to one of his overseers about 'feelings' and his mother was quick to quash any doubts he expressed about whether he could overcome all of the obstacles he was trying to hurdle. Thornton reached for his pocket book. He flipped to the back and gazed down at the yellow roses he had pressed between its crisp pages.

Thornton carefully traced their delicate petals. He felt foolish for having travelled out to Helstone last Tuesday, but he was also relieved that he had these small tokens to remind him of Margaret's beauty. Returning from visiting his new landlady's agents, he had taken the next train bound for the hamlet. He had wandered around the idyllic place where the woman he loved had blossomed.

During the whole visit, Thornton had wished that she would suddenly appear. He had awoken with his cheek pressed against the cold glass of the railway carriage window. The dream of her kissing away his doubts and hurts had been so vivid, that he momentarily turned to see if Margaret was sitting beside him.

Thornton now again rubbed his temples and snapped the pocket book shut. He returned to the pile of ledgers, pained by any bittersweet impulse to dwell on what could never be.

Thornton distracted himself by checking over his clerk's figures. He had exerted himself day and night to foresee and to provide for all emergencies. He was determined to not give in to the despair that had led to his father's death.

Thinking of that always brought his mother to mind. Thornton took pride in the fact that he had been as calm and gentle to the women in his home as ever. He had only snapping at Fanny occasionally over his sister's exorbitant wedding plans. He would be paying for the following Sunday's festivities for some months.

Each day, Thornton rarely spoke to his workmen, but they knew him by this time. Many a curt, decided answer was received by them with sympathy for the stresses they saw pressing upon him. The workers' suppressed antagonism which had once smouldered so strongly was no more. They paid him a great deal of respect whenever he entered the soup kitchen he had installed for them and their poor wives and children. Mary Higgins always smiled gratefully as she offered him second helpings of stew.

Reflecting on all this, Thornton finished checking the calculations. How he wished that he had made different decisions over the last six quarters. Crippled by the strike and a long period of bad trade; when the market falling brought down the value of all large stocks; Thornton's wealth now fell to nearly half.

Feeling tired and overwhelmed, he rested his head on his folded arms. His problems seemed as dark and numerous as the shadows cast over the dimly lit office. No orders were coming in; so he lost the interest of the capital he had locked up in the new machinery. Indeed, it was difficult to get payment for the orders completed; yet there was the constant drain of expenses for working the business. Then the bills became due for the cotton he had purchased; and money being scarce, he could only borrow at exorbitant interest.

Suddenly, he heard one of the machines rumble to life downstairs. Knowing that it was not yet dawn, he jumped to his feet, fearing that one of his competitors had sent someone to sabotage his equipment. He rushed down the steps and darted across the factory to the threshing room. When he pulled open the door, he was surprised to see Higgins and Boucher's oldest lad beginning to load a bale into the mechanism.

"What are you doing here?" Thornton asked, pulling his pocket watch from his crumpled waistcoat. "You're more than an hour early."

"Thought we'd get a head start on Macallister's order, measter," Higgins said, tipping his hat. "Didn't think you'd mind too much. You were mighty pottered when Dawkins didn't finish what he started."

"Has uh, Jack even had breakfast?" Thornton asked, looking down at the sleepy boy.

"Me Mary saw to that, measter," Higgins replied curtly.

"I meant no offence," he said at once, helping them to lift the bale up onto the large belt.

Thornton knew that it must be hard for Higgins to care for all of Boucher's orphans. He awkwardly crouched in front of the boy. The children still often ran away like he was a 'bug-a-boo'. Jack, however, seemed to see beyond his barked orders and angry stride. "That looks like a very warm coat. Mr Higgins and his daughter take good care of you, don't they?"

Jack nodded and then proudly straightened the collar of his new coat. "They do, sir and Miss Marget does."

Higgins flicked the switch to turn off the thresher, wondering what on earth was catching in the blades.

As he did so, he saw Thornton, doing up the top button on Jack's coat and heard him wistfully say, "Miss Margaret?"

"Oh, I mean, Miss Hale," Jack said quickly. "Mary says that it ain't proper to call a lady by..."

"The measter knows who you mean, Jack," Higgins assured the lad. The workman studied Thornton's face, "She sends the children 'gifts'. Books, clothes and the like..."

"It ain't charity," Jack told the master. "Miss Mar...Hale wrote that we had more than earned anything that she sent."

"Earned?" Thornton raised his eyebrows. Did Margaret think that he was neglecting his workers, or not paying them fair wages?

"We 'earned' em by being kind to her when her Mamma was ailing," Higgins explained. "Mary barely slept night after night that month. She was always over there helping Miss Hale."

Thornton then realised that Margaret had worked out a way of helping the poor family without wounding their pride.

"By the by, measter, we haven't had a letter yet this month. Mary worried that she might be ailing... having lost her father and Mr Bell so close together, like..."

"She... The rules of etiquette forbid ladies from writing to bachelors, Higgins. As her tenant, I hear of Miss Hale through her agent here. I... I am certain that she is well... and among friends - thank you, Higgins."

Thornton's 'thank you' lingered after the other words and came with so much warmth of feeling. Perceptively, Higgins asked, "And she's not getten married, measter?"

"Not yet." Thornton's face clouded over once more. "There is some talk of  
it, as I understand, with a connection of the family."

"Then I reckon that she'll not be for coming to Milton again," Higgins said regretfully. Having recalibrated the machine he switched it back on.

The thresher's roar matched the blood thundering in Thornton's ears. "No."

Jack rushed off to begin sorting the cotton. As other workers began to arrive, Higgins followed Thornton up the stairs. He called his master's name and Thornton stopped and turned to face him. He looked down at Higgins from the top step.

Once he was confidentially close, Higgins said, "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, measter, but I don't like to see you and Miss Hale wrenched apart by a falsehood. I think I know why you have not asked her to make Milton her home."

"You do?" Thornton's eyes flashed and he seethed, "I do not wish to hear again the prattle about that night at the train station when Leonards died! Why would you seek to open that festering wound?"

Higgins caught his arm but Thornton shrugged him off. "I'm trying help you, measter. Hear me out!" He lowered his voice, "I don't understand why the young lady never told you so, but she was not with some 'lover' that night. Surely, you know enough of her piety... The likes of her don't have dark trysts with strangers. The man at the station was..."

Thornton grabbed him roughly by the collar. The lack of sleep and his own stubborn pride - at being so addressed in a room full of men getting the better of him. "Keep your voice down, Higgins!"

"I'm not meaning to stir up your temper, measter," Higgins said, trying to casually shrug out of Thornton's grasp.

An angry assumption gripped Thornton, making him tighten his fingers around the workman's lapels. He had thought that he could trust Nicholas Higgins, but the man was clearly just trying to tell him what he wanted to hear. Higgins was trying to clear Margaret's name; to convince him that she was not unmaidenly, so that she would invest more in the mill – ensuring their jobs. In his wilful pride, Thornton took this as a slight against his own ability to pull them all of out the dark, gloomy web of their present misfortunes.

"Measter," Higgins said, watching the storm rage across the younger man's face. "If you'll just let me explain..."

Suddenly, Thornton's words to his mother the night before flashed through his mind. 'I dread nothing,' he had told her, 'Trade is bad, but I vow that no man will suffer by me.' Despite his anger, he wondered if he was now thinking in a distorted way. Had all this talk of Margaret meant that he was looking at Higgins through the broken shards of glass that his heart had become? Was he seeing anything clearly at all?

"I am sorry," Thornton mumbled, releasing Higgins and glancing down at the eavesdropping workers. "Thank you for starting early. You shall be paid in full. Now, get back to it. We've got orders to fill!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

His mother looked anxiously out at the yard as he slammed the mill door behind him. She immediately set the servants to work, having a bath drawn for him and ordering a hearty breakfast.

When he did pull up a chair beside her, Thornton answered her questions in dull monosyllables. Hannah watched him pushing his eggs around the plate.

"Are you feeling ill, son?" she asked again.

He shook his head. "I..." Wanting to speak of business rather than the foolish passion he was trying to forget, he sat back in his chair. "Watson's lawyers sent over the papers about another speculation. It is full of risk, but, if successful, it would place me high above water-mark...so much so that no one need ever know the strait that I am in."

"Oh, John," she said, laying her hand on his arm. "A speculation? I know that Fanny's fiancé was lucky enough to ride that last tide in the market, but..."

"If I risk it, and fail, then I will be just another honest man ruined by group of London rogues," Thornton gloomily finished for her.

"You have told me everything, have you not?" his mother ventured worriedly. "The creditor's money is still safe?"

"Yes," he sighed and placed his hand over hers. "I do not have enough capital... It is, therefore, my creditor's money that I should risk."

"But if the speculation succeeded," Mrs Thornton said, thinking of Watson's growing fortune, "the creditors need never know. Is it a desperate speculation? I am sure it is not, or you would never have thought of it. If it succeeded..."

"I should be a rich man, but my peace of conscience would be  
gone!" her son exclaimed.  
"Why? You would have injured no one!" Hannah replied, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

"No; but I should have run the risk of ruining many for my own paltry aggrandisement!" he suddenly stood up, knocking his chair over. "I have decided! I... I shall use this house as collateral and borrow enough to invest in the next scheme...We shall keep the mill afloat... If I owned Marlborough Mills outright, then it would be different... Oh, my dear mother... if this next speculation fails... you won't much grieve over our leaving this house, will you?"

"No! Fanny will have married Watson... we shall let someplace together," she stood up and reached to steady his shaking shoulder. "But to have you... other than what you are... will break my heart. If the Mill fails...what will you do?"

"I will be always the same John Thornton in whatever circumstances... endeavouring to do right, and making great blunders... But it is hard, mother." He turned away from her, and covered his face with his hands.

"I sometimes have wondered where justice was gone to, and now I don't believe there is such a thing in the world! You will always, though you and I may be beggars together, be my own dear son!'

Hannah fell upon his neck, and kissed him through her tears. Thornton turned around and held her tightly in his arms. He promised to provide for her, even if they had to surrender everything that they had ever owned.

Despite the foreclosure letters clutched in her hand and the gloomy silence, Margaret had still expected to see the white fibres 'snowing' from the machines. She walked forlornly across the dusty factory floor. Without John Thornton standing at its helm, it was like a ship without a captain. 'Or perhaps, he was more like the anchor?' she mused, 'Perhaps the cotton mill is sinking without him to hold it in place.'

It was so deathly quiet without the whirring and clunking of the spinning and weaving machinery. Margaret peered out of one of the grimy windows at the empty mill yard. There were not any horses bearing five hundred pound bales of cotton. There were not any impatient shouts as the raw materials were unloaded from the wagons. The whole mill seemed abandoned and desolate. She wondered when its master would return.

Margaret had practised her speech about the business proposal several times. On the way to Milton with Henry, she had been quite adamant that her decision had little to do with Mr Thornton. She had told herself several times that this desire for him to succeed was not because she harboured any romantic feelings for him; Mr Thornton was hardly likely to renew his addresses.

Now, standing there, with him missing from where she had long expected to see him, she knew that she had been lying. She had been lying, even to herself, about who she truly loved.

Hannah Thornton's voice cut short her reverie, "He's not here."

Margaret turned to politely greet the older woman, but she was not given the chance.

"If you've come to crow over him, he's not here." Mrs Thornton said bitterly and then approached Margaret to study her pale face. The older woman's footsteps echoed in the deserted void, "Come to look over your possessions, have you? The ones he worked all his life for."

Margaret did not flinch, "You once accused me of not knowing what kind of man that I'd rejected. You were right. But if you think I've come to triumph over him – that I don't feel keenly the misfortune of this empty place – then you don't know me at all."

Hannah Thornton studied the worn floor and then said sadly, "I don't know where he is."

Despite her hostility, Margaret could not help thinking that she should comfort his care-worn mother. There was an unspoken fear hanging in the air. 'Would my son take his life, just as my husband did?' Margaret took a step towards her.

Mrs Thornton's voice again had its defiant edge. "Don't think I'm worried for myself," she warned Margaret against pitying her, "He'll see me right - he always has."

Margaret confidently reached out a hand to comfort her. Mrs Thornton immediately turned away and shook her head. Both women stood in contemplative silence.

Mrs Thornton was wondering if her John had rushed off to London in search of Miss Hale. He had left straight after Fanny's wedding breakfast the day before, saying that business may keep him out until all hours.

Hannah had seen it though, at the ceremony, she had seen John's sadness as he had heard the vows. His mother had known that it was he and Miss Hale that he still wished to see, holding hands and kneeling down together in front of St George's vicar. How Hannah wished that her son would stop pining for this uppity young woman!

"I understand that congratulations are in order, Mrs Thornton," Margaret said, wanting to break the tense silence. "Your son's last letter to my barrister mentioned that Fanny was to be married yesterday. I am sure that she was the talk of Milton."

Hannah wondered if she was being mocked. Was Miss Hale, who had spent far more years in opulent dining rooms of the Ton than she had in Hellstone's rectory, disparaging her daughter's special day?

"All of the best families enjoyed it immensely. My John spared no expense and all of the mill owners agreed that his sister was without compare. Miss Latimer hopes to marry there. It is a beautiful church."

Margaret began to worry that Mrs Thornton was trying to put her on her guard. She knew that the older woman disliked her, even thought her conduct to have been immoral, but perhaps, John's mother was trying to hint that his absence was due to a desire not to see her. Thornton may be out calling on Miss Latimer - someone that he felt would be more worthy of his devotion – at this very moment. 'You are being preposterous,' she told herself, 'What is it to you, whom he courts? You lost his good opinion and he told you that he no longer felt any foolish passion for you.'

Flustered by these thoughts, Margaret took her leave of Mrs Thornton with as much grace as she had at her disposal. She recollected herself and handed the business papers to Mrs Thornton.

His mother stood, sneering at her back. Hannah hoped that John would soon find some other investors to bail out the business. The sooner he stopped moping about over Margaret Hale the better.

Margaret hurried out, smoothing her long skirt, and went in search of Mr Lennox. She was convinced that her friend would calm her nerves.

"Did you see him?" he asked, noting her flushed face.

"No," Margaret said. "Oh, Henry, I should never have just impulsively travelled up here! Let us go back to the station and wait for the next train to London! Oh! I've made a terrible mess of everything!"

"The failure of this paltry cotton mill is not your fault!" Henry exclaimed, handing her into the carriage. "I should have come in with you to explain the business proposal. Men like Thornton aren't used to women offering to 'bail' them out."

"No, no," Margaret said, sitting up straighter against the chair as the horses picked up speed. "He was not there. I gave the papers to his mother. Oh, but I don't know if they will want my help. She seems to despise..."

"No one in their right mind could despise you, Margaret!" Henry exclaimed.

She shrugged and then bit her lip and looked out of the side-glass at the bustling street. If the morning had not been such a disaster, she may have tested Henry's patience and tried to see the Higgins' and the Boucher children. It would not have been a pleasant visit for them, though. Henry would surely make them uncomfortable.

Margaret was still ruminating - about how disappointed she now realised she was at not even glimpsing John Thornton - when they reached the station. She barely knew how she made it from the cab to the platform.

The steam train shuddered to a stop and the conductor strode up to them. He announced that there would be a ten minute break, while they waited for a north-bound train to pass. Henry took Margaret's portmanteau and encouraged her to make herself comfortable inside the compartment.

While they waited for it to depart, he suddenly mumbled. "Your dear cousin is a fine mother."

Margaret was not sure what this random compliment was all about. "Edith is enamoured of Sholto's 'little man'. I do fear that Arthur will be quite spoilt!" She said this with all the affection that a doting relative can bestow.

Henry gazed at her beaming face and began again, "My brother has made a wise choice... Margaret," he tentatively reached out and clasped her hand, "I wish for you to reconsider your earlier rejection of my hand... I wish for you to become my wife."

Margaret was so intent on trying to compose herself, that she did not see the tall man stepping off of the north-bound train. John Thornton stepped off of the train on the opposite platform. The smile on his face vanished when he looked from her familiar and beautiful profile, to her fingers twined around Henry Lennox's.

Margaret's vision was blurred by tears and her head was bowed. She quietly tried to find the right words to decline Henry's proposal. That is why she did not notice John Thornton watching them from his side of the platform.

"Have I not waited long enough?" Henry murmured, concerned about her grave silence and the tears spilling onto her cheeks. "Is it too soon after the deaths of your parents?"

Hoping that she would not think him too forward, Henry shifted so that he was sitting right beside her. He tightened his hold on her hand and spoke soothingly to her.

Margaret felt so wretched, but she knew that she must not give him any false hopes. She was not in love with him and she must tell him so. Margaret turned to face him and began to haltingly decline his offer of marriage.

Thornton felt foolish for standing there, but he was awed by her beauty. The words which Thornton had just been reading in her late father's edition of Plato reverberated in his mind. "Death is not the worst that can happen to men." Seeing Margaret being touched by another man was the worst thing he could imagine.

"You would rather be married to that failed manufacturer," Henry angrily cut short her refusal, not realising that Thornton was standing less than ten feet behind him.

Jealousy seized him in its vice-like grip, when Margaret did not deny this.

"I am the one who has spent night after night burrowing through legal journals and naval logs; meeting with consular officials; calling in favours, and for what?" he smoothed her hair back behind her ear. "Why did I do all that if you will not love me?"

"I do love you, but I am not in love with you." Margaret told him, nervously shifting away. "You have been a very good friend to me, Henry. I am sure that Frederick will appreciate all of your efforts to free him from these unjust charges..."

"I know his address," Henry snapped, his fingers twisting around her wrist as she tried to stand up.

"You... you're blackmailing me?" Margaret said incredulously, tears welling in her eyes. "You're saying that you will only keep my secret about Frederick if I marry you?"

"I did not say that!" Henry exclaimed.

"But that is what you meant!" Margaret yelled, wrenching her hand free and standing up so quickly that she almost hit her head on the luggage rack.

She stumbled towards the door, blinded by tears and yanked it open. Henry jumped down after her and reached for her arm.

"Do not touch me!" she exclaimed, completely losing her temper. "Would you really be happy with a loveless marriage, Henry? Do you think that I would not resent you for forcing me into it? John Thornton is ten times the man you are, whatever his bank balance. Even with all that people said about me, he still looked out for my best interests! He still helped my family and he did not demand anything in return! John Thornton would never blackmail me!"

Henry held up his hands, "Calm down, Margaret! You're going to make yourself ill!" He stepped forward, reaching to steer her by the shoulders back towards the carriage.

Henry was on the ground before he realised that Thornton was even there. In all of the commotion of the guards blowing their whistles and men running over to separate the two men wrestling on the platform, Margaret was knocked to the ground herself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Let me be! Let me be!" Thornton exclaimed, struggling out of their grasp. "Where is Miss Hale?"

He pushed past Henry and the other men and saw her sprawled across the ground. The memory of her being injured defending him against the strikers flashed into his mind. Thornton anxiously scrambled over to her, cradling her head in his hands.

"Mr Thornton," she murmured, trying to sit up.

"Are you hurt?" he worriedly asked, checking over for head wounds.

"I... I fell on my arm..." Margaret whispered, grimacing and feeling extremely embarrassed by the crowd gathered around them.

Thornton lifted her up into his arms and carried Margaret over to one of the seats on the platform. He barked orders at some of the railway men he knew. Thornton asked for cushions for her, ordered for Dr Donaldson to be sent for and paid a lad to fetch a cold drink for her.

Margaret looked with an anxious eye at Mr Thornton while he was  
thus occupied. It had been almost a year since she had seen him; and events had occurred to change him much in that time. His fine figure still bore him above the common height of men. This gave him a distinguished appearance, from the ease of motion which arose out of it. His face looked older and care-worn.

Yet, despite his anxiety about Margaret, there was a noble composure which graced his visage. This impressed all of the local businessmen who had just been hearing of his lowered status. The commuters saw what Margaret did – Thornton's sense of inherent dignity and manly strength.

"I am deeply sorry for my actions, Margaret," Henry began cautiously. As he approached her, Mr Lennox kept one wary eye on Thornton. The latter was gently propping up Margaret's arm on the cushions. "I've brought your portmanteau. I hope your dress is not ruined. You could change into..."

"I am not Edith, Henry!" Margaret said in exasperation. "A bit of dust on my dress is the least of my concerns!"

"I shall be happy to escort you back to London and to work on Frederick's appeal. We shall never speak again of what you thought that I was implying..."

"Do not patronise me, Henry!" Margaret replied and then tried to regain her composure.

Thornton realised that she wanted some privacy to talk to her travelling companion, but he did not go far. He leant against the brick wall nearby, loosening his cravat. Margaret glanced over at him. She knew that at the slightest signal he would blacken Henry's other eye.

"Henry, I... I will find lodgings in Milton for the night. I... Please tell my Aunt Shaw and Edith that I will be back on tomorrow evening's train. I... I... will not tell them what has transpired. I... I will keep the peace for their sake."

The train whistle blew again, but Henry ignored it. "I cannot leave you in this state, Margaret! You fell and..."

"Please... just go," Margaret replied wearily. "Mr Thornton will know of a reputable hotel. I... I just can't even think straight after what you said, Henry."

Mr Lennox placed her portmanteau down on the seat beside her. He reached out a hand to touch her face, but one look at her discomfiture made him drop it to his side. Henry glared at Thornton as he strode away.

Margaret watched the smoke puffing from the train as it rattled off down the tracks.

"Got this for yer lady friend, Measter," the small boy announced proudly holding up a glass bottle of lemon squash.

"Thank you," Thornton replied, taking it and flipping a coin into the boy's outstretched hand.

"A florin!" the boy exclaimed. "Thank ye ever so much, sir!" He scampered off through the crowd gathering to board the north-bound train.

Thornton popped the lid off as he walked over to hand Margaret the bottle. She smiled her thanks and sipped it awkwardly with her left hand.

"I... I did not expect to see you here," he began. "That was some speech. I never knew you held me in such high regard..."

Vivid colour flashed into her cheeks, "I... I have long thought... so..."

He raised his eyebrows and then motioned to the seat beside her, "May I?"

"Of course," Margaret trained her eyes on the small bottle, "Please do."

He slowly sat down, careful not to bump her injured arm. "Are you in much pain, Miss Hale?"

"I... I thank you, I am not. It was terribly clumsy of me. I hope that I did not embarrass you too much. I would not wish to start any more rumours..." her voice trailed off in humiliation at how everything must look to him.

Sensing her shame, he changed the subject, "And what brings you to Milton...or were you just on your way through?"

"I came to see you this morning," Margaret replied, taking a sip of the refreshing drink. "Did your mother not tell you? I thought that you had read the proposal and come to catch me before the train departed."

"Proposal?" he mumbled curiously, gazing her beautiful face. "I was in London. I had some business at the Exchange and stopped off at the Bank to... So, you were leaving without waiting to speak to me?"

"Your mother... She made it clear that I was not welcome. Miss Latimer..."

"Miss Latimer was there?" Thornton asked in surprise.

"No," Margaret chanced a look at him. "I... Are you not engaged to Miss Latimer?"

He snorted, "Is that what mother told you? Do you really think that, even if it was my dying wish, Mr Latimer would give his daughter's hand to a 'failed' merchant."

"I... Well, your mother did not say it... not directly... I... think I must have jumped to the wrong conclusion. I... pity Mr Latimer if that is all he sees when he looks at you." Words began to tumble out of her mouth. "I... I came to... I wanted to tell you, how grieved I was to find that I am to lose you as a tenant. I... brought the foreclosure papers with me. Mr Lennox explained it all to me... well, he thinks that women have no mind for such matters... but I... resolved to come here and to... discuss business with you. Mr Lennox says that..."

Thornton decided to explore her perceptions of the state of his affairs. He put the surprising day and a half that he had just had in London behind him. He focused on saying what he would have if he had met with her two days before.

"Miss Hale, I would rather not hear Mr. Lennox's opinion of my affairs. Those who are happy and successful themselves are too apt to make light of the misfortunes of others. In my fallen state, I find that I am awash with bitter recollections and..."

"You are unjust," said Margaret, gently. "Mr Lennox has only spoken of the great probability which he believes there to be of your redeeming - your more than redeeming what you have  
lost - don't speak till I have ended-pray don't! I wish I had the proposal or Henry to explain it for me. As much as he vexed me by his outburst, he is a very shrewd advisor." She finished the lemon squash and he reached for the bottle, placing it on the edge of the chair beside him.

Margaret tucked her hair back behind her ear nervously, "I... I have eighteen thousand and fifty-seven pounds, lying just at  
this moment unused in the bank, and bringing me in only... two and a half per cent." Her voice became steadier. "You could pay me much better interest, and might go on working Marlborough Mills."

She glanced over at him and then bowed her head once more. Margaret found his scrutiny most unsettling. She wished that she knew what he was thinking. "Who is Frederick?" he murmured. "Was that the name of the young man at the station the night that Leonards died?"

Margaret nodded and spoke over the lump in her throat, "I... I had hoped that Mr Bell would tell you the whole story. He said that he would try to explain what really happened to you that night."

Thornton exhaled, annoyed at his own stubborn pride. "He tried to when he came to tell me that he had made you his heir. I told him that I did not wish to speak to you. Higgins also tried to explain. I was very rude to him..."

"I... Even after all these months, I have not tried to tell you. I... I believed that," she lowered her voice, "as you lied to protect me... that as a magistrate, it may... reflect poorly on you... I could not bear for you to suffer shame due to my own sin..."

"Sin?" Thornton mumbled uneasily. "Higgins assured me that no 'dark tryst' had taken place."

Margaret almost bit through her lip with anxiety. She glanced up at him and whispered, "I sinned because I lied to the Constable... I let you cover it up... The young man that was at the station that night was my brother, Frederick."

"Your brother?" Thornton was stunned and relieved and completely overwhelmed. "Your father... in all of our lessons and dinners... never mentioned him."

Margaret glanced up and down the platform and then leant closer to Mr Thornton. "Fred is a fugitive. He made me swear that night that I would keep his even having been in Milton a secret. He wanted to protect Father. Mamma had just passed. It was such an awful time. Fred is innocent, but they don't care for his explanations. They... would start by publicly flogging him and... then leave him to rot in some rat-infested prison."

Thornton reached out and placed his hand over her small, left one. He gazed at Margaret's rosy cheeks as she intertwined their fingers.

"Henry... well, the reason I decided to flee from the carriage... was that Henry made it sound like he would expose Fred, or stop working on his appeal, if I did not accept his latest offer of marriage. Fred is in Spain and I miss him so very much..."

"Why did you come all this way to offer me eighteen thousand pounds? Why did you refuse a wealthy barrister's proposal?" Thornton asked, holding his breath.

"I... I...hardly knew myself why I had set out on such a hasty journey... It dawned on me when I walked into Marlborough Mills and you were not there... I felt lost... and the thought of you marrying anyone else makes me feel ill..."

Suddenly her very heart-pulse was arrested by the tone in which Mr Thornton spoke. He released her hand and touched her soft, lustrous hair. His voice was hoarse, and trembling with tender passion, "Margaret!"

For an instant she looked up; and then sought to veil her luminous eyes by dropping her forehead onto her hands. He slowly tilted her head towards him with another tremulous, eager call upon her name. "Margaret!"

Still lower went the head; more closely hidden was the face  
almost resting on her trembling knees. He came closer to her. He  
knelt by her side, to bring his face to a level with her ear; and panted out the words, "Take care! If you do not speak, then I shall claim you as my own in some strange presumptuous way. Send me away at once, if I must go. Margaret!"

At that third call she turned her face, still covered with her small white hands, towards him, and laid it on his shoulder - hiding it even there. It was too delicious to feel her soft cheek against his, for him to wish to see either deep blushes or loving eyes. He clasped her close and they revelled in the warm embrace.

"Will you marry me, Margaret?" he asked hoarsely, his breath warm against her neck.

"In a heartbeat!" she exclaimed joyously.

Thornton sought her soft lips with his. She kissed him back with more intensity than he had ever dared to dream of.

She pulled back, blushed and murmured in a broken voice, "Oh, Mr Thornton, I am not good enough!" She brought his bruised knuckles up to her lips. "I was so blind and I hurt you far too much!"

"Not good enough? Don't mock my own deep feeling of unworthiness!" he exclaimed. "I have barely dared to hope that you will ever be mine. I have much to tell you... I am not as penniless as everyone believes. This morning in London, I received the profits from a speculation I had invested in. One day I thought I had lost it all, the next I..."

"You would have taken my money and invested it, though, would you not, Mr Thornton? You would not have been too proud to discuss business with a woman?"

"Of course, I would have let you help me and would have listened to your point of view," he said at once, "I still will, my love. And what is all of this 'Mr Thornton' business?"

"I... I love you, John," she smiled radiantly, "Oh, so very much!"

His mouth crashed onto hers and his fingers roamed through her loosened hair. He then laid her left arm across his chest, thinking of how she had once used her body to protect him from the rioters.

"Do you remember, love?" he murmured. "And how I requited you with my insolence the next day?"

"I remember how wrongly I spoke to you," she blushed, "That is all. I am ever so sorry, John."

"Look here! Lift up your head. I have something to show you!" She slowly faced him, glowing with beautiful shame.

"Do you know these roses?" he said, drawing out his pocketbook.

"No," she replied, with innocent curiosity.

"You may have worn sister roses very probably," he remarked, tracing the delicate yellow petals.

She wondered about it for a moment and then she smiled, "They are from Helstone, are they not? I know the deep indentations round the leaves. Oh! Have you been there? When were  
you there?'

"I wanted to see the place where Margaret grew to what she is. Even at the worst time of all, when I had no hope of ever calling her mine..."

"You must give them to me," she said, trying to take them out of his hand.

"Very well! Only you must pay me for them!" he smirked playfully at her.

"How shall I ever tell Aunt Shaw?" she whispered, after some time of delicious kisses.

"Let me speak to her," he said, tucking his pocket book back into his pocket.

"Oh, no! I owe it to her - but what will she say?"

"I can guess. Her first exclamation will be, "That man!'"

"Hush!" said Margaret, "or I shall try and show you your mother's indignant tones as she says, "That woman!"'


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Mr Thornton? Miss Hale?" Dr Donaldson called, clearing his throat loudly and giving them plenty of time to reluctantly end their embrace. He was going to wish them joy, sure that Thornton would not behave so unless he was engaged, but he decided to focus on the matter at hand.

"Good afternoon, Dr," Margaret said, trying to keep her voice steady.

He greeted them both politely and set his case down. "Mathers was just describing your fall. I am afraid that I will have to remove your right sleeve, Miss Hale," Dr Donaldson said.

"As long as you don't have to remove my arm, I shall be content. It is just a gown," Margaret replied, smiling over at Thornton as he sat back down on her left and clasped her hand.

"I well remember you donning an apron and fetching and carrying when your poor Mamma was ill, Miss Hale," the doctor said appreciatively and then added, "If only all young ladies took such a view of things."

He removed a pair of scissors from his case, nodded reassuringly at them both and then slowly cut away the sleeve of the fine green travelling dress. He then began his examination. Margaret flinched and drew in a quick breath when his fingers probed the aching swelling above her right elbow.

The doctor opened his case. "I will give you something for the pain, Miss Hale. I am glad that Mr Thornton did not move you far. Your forelimb will need to be set using a comfrey cast. Once, I lift it off the cushions and start wrapping it, it will be extremely painful..."

"Please, Dr Donaldson, it is bearable. I..."

"My fiancé will take the full dose," Thornton said firmly, squeezing her other hand.

"I... I'm afraid that..."

"Oh, there is nothing to fear, Miss Hale," Dr Donaldson assured her, measuring out a generous portion of laudanum. "By the time that you awake, Mr Thornton and his mother will have you tucked up in a nice, warm bed. You shall need to be careful of the joint I shall make in the cast. It will make it easier for me to saw the cast off, but if you bump it, then it will cause you undue pain."

Margaret nodded and then sipped the bitter medicine. She rested her head against Thornton's shoulder and slowly drifted away. The platform faded and the doctor mixing the comfrey herbs disappeared. The last thing she saw was Thornton's face – his intense blue eyes full of loving concern for her.

Margaret opened her eyes and looked around the daintily decorated room in surprise. She realised that this was formerly Fanny's room. Joy welled up in her at the memory of Thornton's declarations of love and proposal of marriage. She felt a twinge of pain in her right arm as she tried to ascertain the hour by sitting up to look out of the window.

It seemed to be early evening. The chiming of the grandfather clock in the parlour confirmed this. Realising that she could not present herself to Mrs Thornton in the nightdress one of the maids must have dressed her in; Margaret slowly padded over to the trunks. She carefully opened her smaller portmanteau. She found it quite difficult to sort through the garments using her left hand.

There was a light tap on the door and it creaked open.

"Oh, Miss Hale!" a familiar voice exclaimed. "Measter says to make sure you are still warm a'bed!"

"Martha!" Margaret said in delight, standing up far too quickly. She dizzily stumbled towards the young maid who had sometimes been sent by Mrs Thornton to tend to Mrs Hale.

Martha quickly rushed to Margaret's side and helped her to perch back on the edge of the large bed. "You best be resting, milady," she said with polite and genuine concern.

"I thank you but I am feeling much better," Margaret said, focusing on steadying her voice. "I... I would very much like your help to dress for dinner."

"If you think it best, Miss Hale," Martha replied courteously, reaching for a corset and loosening the stays. "The Measter will be happy to see you," she added pleasantly, helping Margaret to her feet.

"I wish his mother were as fond of the idea," Margaret mumbled and then almost bit her tongue out of frustration at her lack of discretion.

"Ah, but she'll come around," Martha reassured her. "When you know her as I do, you... Oh, I am sorry, milady, I will know my place and..."

Margaret quickly tried to put the flustered young maid's mind at rest, "Please tell me what you wished to say, Martha."

"Oh, that's ever so kind of you, Miss Hale," the young woman said in relief as she finished loosely tying the corset around Margaret's waist. "I... Mrs Thornton has been very kind to me. She's kept a roof over my head ever since I was orphaned. You should have seen how aggrieved she was when she had to let Betty and Rosie go. She's set in her ways is all." Martha bustled across to the trunks, "Now, Miss Hale, which gown would you like to wear? We shall have to be careful of your arm, mind."

It seemed to take only a short while for Margaret to be sitting by the hearth in the brightly lit parlour. Finding that Hannah Thornton was 'from home' and that her fiancé had not yet returned from the Mill, Margaret sat at a small writing desk and composed a letter to her Aunt Shaw and Cousin Edith. She barely mentioned Henry, hoping that he would not allude to the dreadful business at the railway station when he returned to London. She focused on confessing her love for John Thornton and her desire to live in Milton with him.

She had just finished sealing the letter when Thornton returned from Marlborough Mills.

"My dearest!" he exclaimed, rushing across the room to kiss her hand and then sit by her side. "Are you sure that you are quite well enough to..."

"I thank you, I am quite well," Margaret said giddily, overwhelmed by the love that she felt for him.

"Are you in need of medicine or refreshments?" he asked worriedly, his fingers tracing the lace glove on her left hand.

Margaret politely declined, wanting to wait for his mother's return.

"I have a gift for you, my love," Thornton murmured, pulling what looked like a small gold locket from his pocket. "It was my father's. It's a compass. It points true North, where..."

"My heart shall always be," Margaret whispered, almost bursting in to tears at the depth of emotion she saw reflected in his eyes.

Hannah Thornton arrived with her son-in-law, Mr Watson, and a very bemused Fanny. Margaret quickly slipped the compass into her pocket. She took Thornton's arm and stood to formally greet his family.

"That is a very nice shade, Miss Hale," Fanny ventured as they walked into the dining room. "Is that the colour that all London heiresses are wearing this season?"

"I hardly know," Margaret mumbled, wishing to keep discussions of financial matters to a minimum. "You look very well, Mrs Watson."

Fanny snorted, earning her a confused and angry look from her brother.

"If we had known of your visit, Miss Hale," Mrs Thornton stated formally, "we would have arranged finer fare."

"Your meals are always delightful, Mrs Thornton," Margaret said, bowing her head as she sat opposite the matriarch. "I assure you that I have no expectations of any special treatment or..."

Fanny failed to hide a snort behind a cough.

"Enough," Thornton grunted, looking markedly from his mother to his sister.

Margaret swallowed as much as the pea soup as she could over the lump lodged in her throat. She felt miserable to be the cause of such tension.

The conversation was at least tolerable while her fiancé was in the room, but when the gentleman retired to Thornton's study, Margaret felt deserted.

"We generally sit in the parlour in the evenings," Mrs Thornton said by way of invitation.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Margaret replied as graciously as she could.

Margaret wearily seated herself beside the fire.

"That is Mamma's place," Fanny snapped.

"Oh, I am sorry," Margaret said at once, trying to quickly regain her feet.

"Oh, you shall have it soon enough," Mrs Thornton replied, "You may as well make yourself at home."

Margaret felt as if she had been slapped. She quietly excused herself for the evening as she paced across the room.

"That's what this is all about isn't it?" Mrs Thornton asked moodily. "You want your revenge on me. You shall use Mr Bell's money to lord it over us."

Margaret turned to face her, barely holding back the tears that were welling in her eyes. "I know this has all come as something of a shock to you all. As I told you the other day, I did not know whom I was refusing. I am in love with John Thornton; that is why I wish to become his wife. Thank you, once again, for your hospitality." Margaret dizzily turned on her heel.

She had almost reached the stairwell when she heard Thornton begin yelling.

"How dare you even insinuate such a thing! I shall not even hear a word said against her!"

"You're being a damn fool, Thornton! You should never discuss business with women, let alone yoke yourself with one with a dubious reputation!"

A moment later, Margaret was almost bowled over by Mr Watson. Thornton was close on his heels, seething with anger and threatening his brother-in-law.

Margaret darted up the stairs and then had to stop to catch her breath on the landing. She peered down, worried that Thornton and Watson were going to come to blows.

Thornton glanced up and saw her frightened expression. He bounded up the stairs just as Watson began yelling for his wife to 'come at once'.

"Are you ill?" Thornton murmured worriedly when he saw how pale she was and felt her quivering as he guided her towards her bedchamber.

Margaret gesticulated towards the foyer where the front door had just slammed. Tears fell unbidden down her cheeks. Thornton excused himself for the breach of etiquette as he helped her to sit on the edge of the large, white bed. He knelt at her feet and reached up to wipe her tears away.

Thornton cleared his throat, "There are some mean-spirited rumours about your reason for accepting my proposal, Margaret. Watson repeated them when I would not immediately promise to invest your capital in one of his schemes."

Margaret clasped his hand, "The rumours... are they about Frederick...about the man I was seen with at Outwood Station."

"Your virtue is in question... Watson believes that I should insist on a long engagement so that all will know that you are not marrying me for my 'fine name' and to forestall… it is said that you may lately have found yourself in the family way to some undeserving fellow..."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Margaret understood at once and it made her feel violently ill. The thought that there were people in Milton who believed that she would foist an illegitimate child on Thornton made her sick to her stomach.

The very idea that she would couple with a man that she was not married with was abhorrent to her! How could Mr Watson think she was a loose woman over the alleged sighting of her and a man, whom they had not known was her fugitive brother, that had happened so many months before?

"We need not worry about such lies," Thornton assured her squeezing her hand. He stood to ring the bell.

Martha rushed down from the servant's quarters. She soon returned with a tray of comfrey, bandages and the bitter smelling medicine.

"Martha shall make you comfortable, my dearest," Thornton whispered, brushing a kiss across her forehead as he straightened up. "I need to speak with Mother."

"I shall see you in the morning," Margaret said fondly, not realising that she would not see her fiancé for quite some time.

Thornton's first waking thought was of Margaret's tender smile. He bound out of bed, hurriedly dressed and then made his way down to the morning room. Hannah Thornton greeted him warmly; hoping to use honey rather than vinegar to dissuade him from marrying his fiancée.

Her son seemed so preoccupied by Miss Hale, whose reputation was still besmirched by her having been seen out at night with a strange man more than a year before. It worried Hannah that her son and Fanny's husband were again at odds with each other. She fussed over John as she poured his tea, wondering what his tense silence was due to.

"Ring the bell please, Mother."

"Certainly, John," Hannah replied, smoothing her dress as she reached for the cord.

Martha responded quickly; she was always eager to help the Thorntons, who had kept her on despite their own difficulties.

"Is Miss Hale much improved?" Thornton asked her.

"She is still a-bed, measter," Martha replied. "I did not dare wake her without your say-so."

"Please check on her," Thornton replied. "If she feels unwell, then I shall send for Dr Donaldson."

Martha curtsied and turned on her heel. In less than a minute she had returned, her face pale, her hands shaking in agitation.

"She... Miss Hale is g...gone, sir," Martha blurted out.

"Perhaps she took a stroll," Hannah remarked, glancing out the window. "She is such a... free spirit..."

Thornton gave her a sharp look as he joined her to peer out at the dusty street.

"But...Begging your pardon, Mrs Thornton, she... Miss Hale's clothes is all there... in a pile... under the bedclothes..."

A ring at the bell had Thornton rushing down to the front door. Expecting to find Margaret apologising for causing him the least concern, he was disappointed to find a young lad there.

"For Mr Thornton, sir," the boy said, doffing his cap and holding out a letter.

Thornton recognised Margaret's delicately sloping writing at once. He tossed a coin to the boy and then tore open the seal.

_Dear John,_

_Leave-taking is so difficult but I fear that I must. Every circumstance tells me that our match is not to be. Otherwise, I would stay and make the most of the situation. Never did I think that I would face such circumstances. All I can say is that I am terribly penitent. Rather than cause you further pain, I shall just go. Do me the courtesy of sending my cases on to London. Sorrow wells up inside of me. All my prayers are for you. Regard for you is my only consolation. My heart will always bear true north. _

_Sincerely, _

_Margaret._

"Whatever is the matter?" Hannah asked in alarm at the look on his face as he rushed past her.

Thornton ignored her and bounded up the stairs. He pushed the door to Fanny's former room open and began searching the room. He could not believe that Margaret had suddenly left.

He noticed the clothes piled up on the bed, but apart from this everything seemed to be in good order.

"John," Hannah reached for his arm.

He thrust the letter at her, silencing further entreaties.

"I'm going for the police," he replied, after once more surveying the room in disbelief.

Hannah quickly read the letter and then rushed after him, "John, John, there's no need to invite even more idle chatter..."

"Miss Hale would not leave like that, Mother... something is wrong...there are... circumstances of which you know nothing. I shall return presently..."

"John! Wait!" Hannah called and then told Hannah to fetch her coat, aiming to follow him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Thornton was still arguing with his mother when he reached his study in the mill. She was insisting that he need not make a fuss. Hannah was furious – that Miss Hale had changed her mind was unfortunate, but that his 'rushing off' for the constabulary was only going to open them up to further censure from their social circle and more idle chatter from the servants.

Hannah grimaced as she realised that Nicholas Higgins, that odious upstart who had ingratiated himself into her son's affections, was already eavesdropping.

John searched his desk and found the business papers that Margaret had signed for Marlborough Mills. The handwriting matched precisely with the 'Dear John' letter that he clutched in his other trembling hand. There was one distinct difference, however. He was trying to determine what this was, when Higgins interrupted his mother's rant.

"May I be of help, measter?" the stout man quietly asked.

It did not take long to convince Nicholas Higgins that Margaret's sudden disappearance was not of her own volition. He followed Thornton's instructions and quickly ran for Inspector Mason.

When the young inspector was ushered into the house by a peeved Hannah, Thornton was sitting at the writing desk in the small guest room. He was reading over and over Margaret's note – determined that she had written it under duress.

"Her love for me is real," he said for the tenth time, dismissing his mother. Higgins waited in the back foyer– his heavy and muddy work boots – let alone his inferior rank – forbade him from coming upstairs.

Inspector Mason read the note briefly, listened to Thornton's explanations and then began a thorough search of the room.

"The clothes piled up under the quilt seems like subterfuge," Mason observed, much to Thornton's relief.

"She would not have suddenly left," Thornton agreed. "You know enough of Miss Hale's forthright nature, Mason. If she wanted to return to her Aunt Shaw's home, she would have boldly told me so. She would not have slipped out of the house in this fashion."

Mason nodded and Thornton watched the young man opening the curtains. Mason's eyes scanned the floor and alighted on a rag balled up on the rug beside the bed.

He picked up the slightly damp rag. Thornton – already fearing the worst worried that it may have blood upon it. It did not. Mason brought it to his nose and breathed in a sickly sweet smell. He tried to place where he had smelt it before. He was sure that he had caught a whiff of it in Dr. Donaldson's consulting rooms.

"Miss Hale was injured, I believe, in a confrontation with her family's friend."

"Oh, yes, but Henry Lennox meant her no harm," Thornton said at once.

"You do not think he would have been motivated to fetch the lady back, sir?" Mason inquired.

"Oh, no, no, Mason," the magistrate replied. "Not like this. A note or two would be as far as that gentleman would go to…"

"Well, we shall see, sir. Begging your pardon, but did Miss Hale have any medicines for her injury."

"Of course," Thornton replied, "she had a bottle with a dropper. See it is there on the nightstand. She certainly did not use rags."

"Hmm," Mason mused and Thornton wished that he would hurry up and decide to send the constables out on a search for Margaret.

"There are substances, sir, that Dr Donaldson and others like him use to force patients to sleep – for surgery and the like."

Thornton's heart leapt into his throat. "You… you believe me then? You think she was forced to live this house?"

"Probably carried out," Mason nodded. "Look there at that boot print."

Thornton glanced at the indentation, surprised that he had not noticed the dirty mark before.

"Her note," Thornton said at once, "some of the letters are written in a most peculiar way."

"No doubt because her mind was addled by this, sir," Mason replied.

"No, no," Thornton said, beginning to lose his temper. "The capital letters, apart from those in Dear John and in her name, Margaret, all slope at a different angle. See here, Mason."

Mason raised his eyebrow, once more comparing the hand-writing samples from the business paper with the scrawled note.

"Maybe it… maybe it spells something, sir," he said, looking once more at each capital letter.

"L…E…O…N…A…R…D…S." Mason shook his head, "Oh, no, sir. This must just be a coincidence. Leonard's is dead and Miss Hale was hardly in a fit state to point a finger at anyone. Perhaps she had a nightmare about Leonard's and…."

"There are more slanted letters – see A…R…M…" Thornton replied impatiently.

"Arm? Maybe she meant 'army'?" Mason pondered. "Still don't make no sense, though, Mr Thornton."

"The S in Sincerely is also slanted!" Thornton exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "Uh, Leonard's Arms, Leonard's Arms…It's a public house… it's in Helstone!"

"Miss Hale was leaving us a clue?" Mason said, "You think that someone took her back to Helstone?"

"We must search!" Thornton said. "Order a search of Milton and… and we shall go on the next train to Helstone. She must be there!"

"But… but how does this all fit together," Mason began to object.

"Come, there is no time to waste!" Thornton exclaimed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Margaret awoke and felt the scratchy straw-stuffed mattress beneath her. She realized that she was still trapped in the filthy, run-down cottage. Her bandaged arm throbbed as she again began the work of the previous night – trying to work her hands loose from their constraints. Meanwhile, Margaret strained to hear her captors in the next room. She had been sure of only one person's identity and she knew better than to try to storm past him. Thinking that perhaps they had left her unguarded, she dared to fully open her eyes.

Meagre light came from three candles lit on the old wooden table. The burly man who had forced her to write a 'Dear John' letter to her fiancé was sitting beside the hearth at the far end of the cottage. He definitely looked like the woman from Margaret's village – the same hue of red-brown hair and large nose. Margaret almost gagged just thinking about his foul breath, which had smelt like raw fish as he stood over her with the knife to her throat. Now, the pain in her arm only worsened as she fought against the restraints. Margaret closed her eyes and feigned sleep as the grimy door began to open.

"I ain't seen too many constables about," a woman's voice mumbled and Margaret heard something heavy being heaved onto the table.

"Perhaps it worked. Thornton's probly at the measter's club drownin' his sorries," the stout man muttered, "I ain't heard nothin' else from her."

"Is she breathing?" the woman replied and Margaret heard the man's chair scrape on the worn floor and could tell that they were coming closer.

Margaret struggled to remain calm and to breathe in and out deeply and evenly. "My heart will always point true north," she told herself over and over. She fervently hoped that John would read between the lines and correctly interpret her letter.

"She's a right bonny lass," the man observed, running his eyes over Margaret's curves.

"Never you mind, Ned Purkis!" the woman spat and Margaret was relieved that she had correctly surmised that this man was related to the owner of one of Helstone's only inns: The Leonard's Arms.

His face, now she thought on it, had even looked like Leonard's as the large man had menaced her the night before. Or was she merely confused? What if this man was not related to Mrs Purkis from the Leonard's Arms? What if it were all merely a series of coincidences and unfortunate events?

The sickly sweet smell of the rags that they had held against her face while they kidnapped her may have stolen into her mind and mixed everything up. Had the woman even called him Ned 'Purkis' – perhaps Margaret had simply imagined it because she so desperately hoped that her coded 'Dear John' letter would lead her very dear fiancé to her. She ached to be held tenderly by Thornton.

Determined to find a way back to him, Margaret focused on listening for clues as the two resumed their bickering in the adjoining room.

"Right, I've had just about enough of this!" the man exclaimed.

"Listen to me, Ned," the woman pleaded and Margaret snuck a look at them.

"No!" he seethed and Margaret saw the man strike the woman and heard her anguished yelp. "Jane Barrow – you will do as yer told by yer kin, well, very nearly kin. You will go back to Watson's and find out where the Shaw's live. We'll take Miz Margaret to town and fetch a right good price for her."

Suddenly, Margaret realized that the woman was Jane – a servant who had worked for Hannah and John. She had mourned her sweetheart Leonard's death and then been retrenched when Marlborough Mills began to fail. Margaret realized that she must have sought work at Fanny's new home; that Jane now worked for Mrs Watson. Somehow, this pair - were going to take her, not to the Leonard's Arms in Helstone, but to London. They were going to well, ransom her off to Aunt Shaw and Edith Lennox.

Margaret now regretted making the connection between the man, who did indeed seem to be Mrs Purkis' son from the Leonard's Arms, such a prominent part of her note to John. Her brain must have been addled by the drug that she had breathed in! How silly of her to think that Mrs Purkis' inn would have been a hideout. The kindly matron of Helstone's rustic tavern would certainly not act as an accessory to kidnapping, threats and intimidation!

Margaret would have to try to convince them that they needed her to let them write a new letter to Mr Thornton. She needed to stall them taking her to London. She needed to get word to John not to search for her down south! Margaret was so angry at herself for her 'oh so clever' coded note. If she did not act quickly, her only love would be searching for her in the wrong county.

Margaret awoke in the rocking cart and immediately began to panic. She was in a box somewhat similar to a coffin in its dimensions. She could not see her fingers in front of her face as she began to claw at the lid above her pale form. It was futile – she was trapped. Margaret could hear hawkers shouting about their wares and felt the rhythm of the horse-drawn vehicle as it moved from side to side. She tried to take calming breaths and flex her calves. Her aching muscles were strained and sore. The roof of her mouth was dry and her throat was parched. How long had she been in this box? What day was it? Had Thornton received her second encoded note? Had he correctly interpreted either of them? Were they really headed for London? What had driven kind Mrs Purkis' son, Ned, to carry out revenge and ransom demands on behalf of Jane. Did the maid blame her for Leonards' death?

Margaret heard the words 'Thames' and 'Cheapside' in the hawker's boasts about their wares. At least she knew that they were almost in the heart of London's business district. She still did not feel too relieved. It would worry her Aunt Shaw so much, let alone Edith, Captain Lennox and his brother, Henry. She swore to herself that she wouldn't bare the latter any ill will. All she wanted was for John to find her, for Dixon to go back to Milton with them – for them all to have some semblance of normality – even a cup of tea together, anything other than this wretched and uncertain predicament.

Meanwhile, Thornton was standing inside Helstone's tavern. He had barely slept as the train had headed south. His every thought was of Margaret. Inspector Mason sat beside him, nodding off throughout the long journey. Now they approached the lady behind the bar. She identified herself as Mrs Flora Purkis and said that she'd worked at 'The Leonards' Inn' since she was a lass. Her stepfather, Ronald Leonards, had deeded the place to her. Mistaking their intent, she began to defend her right to trade there, insisting that women could own property if it was inherited. It was the name Leonards' that Thornton wanted to focus on.

Mrs Purkis explained that her nephew had lately died in the very Milton that Thornton referred to. Why, her Ned had taken it particularly hard – to lose his cousin like that. Mason then began to question her about Margaret Hale. Mrs Purkis seemed surprised at the mention of the late rector's daughter. What did any of these inquiries have to do with her? Miss Hale had last visited a few months before – with a gentleman – Mr Bell from Oxford. Mrs Purkis had heard that he had left the kind, young woman his fortune.

"Aha!" Mrs Purkis said, all of a sudden. "You're from the Navy inquiry, ain't you? Mentioning young Leonards and then the Hales? Why didn't you just say so? Like I said last time some fellows were sent here, I ain't seen Master Frederick since long before he and Leonards and Ned and all the other lads joined up. Now, will yer be needing lodging?"

Thornton tried to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. Mason just looked even more bewildered. He began to tell Mrs Purkis that she was wrong – that they were not from the Navy and knew of no 'Master Frederick'. Mason was, however, interrupted by a telegraph boy calling out his name.

Turning, he and Thornton watched the lad dash through the Inn's drawing room. He looked like he had run all the way from the railway station. Thornton threw him a coin as soon as Mason had grabbed the paper.

"It's from one of my constables. Another note from Miss Hale was received – addressed to you, of course, sir. Now, it's been transcribed with a lot of stops. Hmm…"

Thornton snatched the paper away without a second thought. It read:

Dear John,

Sorry - my last letter was in error. How could I have been so blind? Are you ever going to be able to move on? While I am far away, I shall still think of you. Leaving you was hard but I was forced to. Others dictated my steps. Never forget that I wished to be yours. Do not search for me in Helstone. Others in the capital may doubt my love.

Never you - my one and only,

Margaret.

It took Thornton no time at all to read between the lines. The capitals letters that slanted indicated that they needed to hurry to their country's capital. 'S-H-A-W- L-O-N-D-O-N.' In his agitation, John Thornton looked quite mad to Mrs Purkis, the telegraph boy and the other residents of Helstone. It was Mason, however, that he needed to convince.

"Her Aunt Shaw lives in London… in Harley Street, I believe…. " Thornton insisted as he badgered Mason into setting off for the railway station once more.

Thornton noticed a yellow rose peeking out if the hedgerow as they made their descent. Impulsively he picked it. He promised himself that he would give it to Margaret when she was once more safe and sound – in his arms.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Thornton knocked once more and at last, a butler opened the large, mahogany door. Mason showed the man his police badge and asked to be directed to Mrs Shaw. The early morning sunlight made Thornton seem even more bleary eyed and care-worn as he strode into the drawing room after the inspector.

"Inspector Mason of the Milton Police, madam," the butler announced, "and Mr John Thornton of Marlborough Mills, Milton."

Aunt Shaw was quite alarmed. She stood up from her tapestry and rushed forward.

"My niece, Margaret was lately in Milton, sir? Is she ill? Is she hurt?"

Mason helped Mrs Shaw into a chair and then stooped down in front of her. "I am afraid that it is bad news, madam," he said at once. "We believe Miss Hale has been kidnapped. It is Mr Thornton's opinion that a ransom demand will be made of you. We have come to ensure that your niece is returned to you unharmed."

Aunt Shaw turned her wide eyes to study the aggrieved face of John Thornton. "Henry… Henry said that Miss Hale had chosen to stay in Milton and… Well, I was awaiting a letter from my niece to… Oh, this is horrible. Imagine what her poor, dear parents would think. Oh, our dear Margaret. I fear my daughter's reaction. Edith quite dotes on her cousin, you see. Oh, perhaps Dixon should be informed. She is out with Sholto. Oh, my."

Thornton well understood the feelings that had produced this tumultuous flow of words. He offered to fetch a servant to get Margaret's Aunt some refreshments, smelling salts, anything that would be of assistance. Mason sat reading aloud various names, facts and dates from his notebook, wondering if Aunt Shaw was able to facilitate them with any clues as to why Margaret had been targeted.

"No, no, no," Aunt Shaw replied. "Greedy people willing to hurt an innocent, young lady for their own gain. Hmmm, I shall ring the bell. You two will be my guests while we seek to solve this horrible puzzle."

Thornton thanked her quietly and was soon being led up the handsome staircase by the butler. Mason followed, not surprised or fussed when he was offered a less elaborately furnished room than the guest suite offered to Mr Thornton. Both had packed light. Thornton hurriedly unpacked his small suitcase, washed his face and hands in the basin on the nightstand and glanced around the room at the artworks and fine curtains.

Rushing feet brought him to the door in an instant. Mason called to him to come downstairs. A note had just been dropped through the mail slot demanding ten thousand pounds. Aunt Shaw's fan fluttered as she gasped. Mason studied the script realising that this one had not been written by Margaret. It named a green in Covent Garden as the drop-off point for the ransom and told Mrs Shaw not to seek help from the bobbies. She was to go there alone at midnight if she ever wanted to see her niece again. Dixon returned carrying the mistress' grandson at this moment. She had a quick mind and, despite her worry over Miss Margaret, a calming effect on Aunt Shaw. Thornton looked around at the unlikely collection of people. Their agitation was great as they planned how to recover Margaret and keep both women safe.

Ned Purkis glanced out at the dimly lit street as the clock chimed twelve. Returning from the foggy window, he grabbed Margaret and forced her to her feet. He took her completely by surprise and the gag in her mouth cut into her cheeks painfully. Margaret felt the familiar throbbing pain in her arm as he forced her to the doorway. Jane stepped forward and put a large veiled bonnet over Margaret's head and face, arranging it in such a way that it would be hard for her to be identified or to see where they were taking her. Without the use of her hands, Margaret found it even harder to keep her balance, but anything was better than her journey to London in that wooden box.

She heard muffled whispers as Jane went on ahead of them, out beyond the dim mews of the Covent Garden inns and playhouses. Margaret could hear people singing – no doubt in a tavern. She tried to twist her head to see where Ned Purkis was shoving and pulling her, but this earned her a muttered threat and she felt his grimy fingernails dig into the skin of her arm. The coat they had pulled around her nightdress was the wrong size and she found it hard enough to walk as it was.

They seemed to have reached their destination at last. Ned Purkis had 'some fun' with her, popping buttons off the ragged coat – which was snug against her hips and bust - while he waited for someone. Margaret hoped that the police constables would snatch him before his fingers got anywhere near her skin. After another minute, Margaret heard a low whistle off to the left. Something hit her foot and she glanced down – trying to move her head to see and saw a potato sack. Ned grabbed it in oafish delight and triumphantly clutched hundreds of hundred pound notes.

"Is she alone?" Ned called.

"She is," Margaret heard Jane reply – again from the left.

Margaret realised with dread that her poor Aunt Shaw had risked her safety to help her. She prayed fervently that these despicable people would not hurt her Aunt.

"Maybe we should take her," Ned said, confirming Margaret's worst fears.

Margaret was unable to call out to warn her Aunt to flee. Instead, she wanted to create a distraction – she needed to spook Ned and Jane into running away. Taking a deep breath, Margaret feigned a swoon. She had meant to make it look like she had fainted, but found it hard to stop from groaning when she landed heavily on her injured arm.

"Get up – yer a piece of work, get up!" Ned shouted, making a loud commotion as he sought to pick up Margaret's unresponsive form, "Get up!"

"Leave her!" Jane pleaded with him and added to the noise, "We must run! Someone will hear! Run, Ned!"

But it was too late. Through the heavy veil, Margaret could make out lanterns bobbing towards them as people darted forwards.

"Stop! Police! Put your hands up!" Mason and the other constables were yelling.

"Margaret!" Dixon reached her first, wearing a ridiculous wig, pearls and fancy dress. Margaret realised that her family's faithful servant had stood in for her less worldly Aunt.

Dixon wrenched the bonnet off her face and began to cry with joy when she realised that Margaret was very much alive. She tried to pull the gag off, all the time calling for the others.

"Dixon!" Margaret happily exclaimed and then her eyes welled with tears even more as Thornton led Aunt Shaw forward. "John!"

He bolted towards her, sliding onto the grass to cradle her in his arms. He kissed her tears away and held her up while Dixon undid the knots around her wrists. Thornton let go of her only long enough to discard the filthy, threadbare coat and put his own around her, carefully doing up each button against the cold, while Aunt Shaw fussed over her.

"My heart bears true north," she managed to whisper in his ear as he carried her across the green to Aunt Shaw's carriage.

Thornton was too overcome to speak. A storm of feelings raged inside of him – from gratitude due to her safe return to wanting to rip the arms off the people who had kidnapped her.

"They caught them, sir," Dixon informed him as he carefully placed blankets around Miss Hale. He helped Mrs Shaw up beside her and then sat opposite Margaret, his eyes not leaving her pale face as Aunt Shaw insisted that Dixon also ride with them once more.

"I'm so sorry," Margaret sobbed – relief, anxiety and guilt over the pain her loss had put them all through, glad that Thornton quickly reached out to comfort her.

"They shall be sorry, my love," Thornton managed to say over the lump in his throat.

Over the next week, Aunt Shaw watched the young man's earnest and affectionate attentions to her niece, relieved that she could approve of the gentleman who had won Margaret's heart. Henry's account had been much different. He visited, along with Edith and Captain Lennox. Margaret tried to downplay her fears and the trauma that she had suffered – for their sake. It seemed that only when Thornton was present that the storm in Margaret's mind was becalmed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Aunt Shaw, the Lennox family and Margaret's other London friends had attended many high society weddings, but they were quick to compliment Hannah Thornton on all of her attention to detail in bringing about her son's wedding with such finesse. Knowing that she had not always approved the match made her maternal care of Margaret's trousseau all the more touching. It seemed that the couple, whose courtship had been fraught with such hardship, basked in the sunshine on their wedding day.

"Thank you, Mother," John had murmured hoarsely several times during the wedding breakfast, seeking her out when he realised yet one more special touch had been her handiwork. He kissed her cheek and returned to his bride.

Hannah Thornton beamed, knowing that there would still be hard days ahead as she accustomed herself to not being the mistress of Marlborough Mill House, but happy that John was so overjoyed to be married to Margaret at last. She glanced over at her new daughter-in-law. The fitted bodice and full skirt of her white linen and tulle gown accentuated her slender waist as she danced with her proud husband.

A coronet of yellow roses accentuated the sheer cotton of her veil, which was fringed with fine lace. All of these details, including finding the right blooms from Helstone, had been the work of many sleepless nights, but Hannah was pleased with their gratitude and warm smiles. The matriarch was also delighted that her daughter-in-law had chosen to wear so much cotton and linen – it sent a message to all of the other young ladies about the fine quality of Marlborough Mills' wares.

Later that night,Thornton walked down the corridor of the Mill House and tapped on the door of Margaret's suite. "Just a moment, please," she called.

When she opened the door, Thornton was once again stunned by how ravishingly beautiful his new bride was. Her dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves. The long white nightdress set off her bright eyes and rosy cheeks.

Margaret was puzzled, "I thought it would be your Mama! Do you not have a key to that door?" she nodded towards the other side of the suite.

Thornton stepped in to the room and found his voice, "I did not wish to startle you, my love."

Margaret reached for his hand, "Have I done something to offend you, John? You look ever so grave!"

He kissed each of her knuckles, "I am merely awed by my good fortune in being loved by you, Mrs Thornton."

Margaret smiled and brought his hand to her own lips. After kissing it, she said, "Oh, I shall never tire of being thus addressed! Do you know that all afternoon, every time Edith, Nicholas, or anyone else, said 'Mrs Thornton', I could barely contain my joy?"

"Well, Mrs Thornton, do you wish to retire for the evening, or does Plato confine you to your own chamber?" he smiled reassuringly at her slight blush.

Margaret squeezed his hand, "Do you have the key, Mr Thornton?"

"I certainly do, Mrs Thornton," he replied, relinquishing her hand only long enough to retrieve it from the pocket of his long robe.

He was soon leading her into the master suite. Thornton escorted Margaret over to one of the finely upholstered chairs by the fire. He then stirred the embers and made sure that she was warm enough. Thornton pulled up a chair beside hers and offered Margaret a glass of wine.

"Thank you, John," she said pleasantly and sipped her drink.

"What are you thinking of my love?" Thornton asked, hoping that she was not too nervous about their wedding night.

"Your boudoir is…lovely," Margaret replied, smiling to reassure him. Margaret admired the forest-green ivy print of the wallpaper and the fern-green silk curtains.

Thornton took her empty glass and placed it on the small table beside his own. He reached out and tenderly caressed her cheek, "You are lovely… fine and beautiful, Mrs Thornton."

"Thank you," Margaret replied, hoping that he could not hear the nervous edge to her voice.

Thornton leant forwards and placed a kiss on each of her cheeks and then on her eyelids, "I have wanted to do that all day," he sighed.

"Only for a day?" Margaret asked, delighting in his gentle kisses and warm breath against her skin.

"You know very well how I long for you!" he chuckled, pulling her closer to him, "It feels like I have waited a hundred years for you! When you reached the end of the aisle this morning, I almost did this."

Thornton gently cupped Margaret's face and placed his lips on hers. He tried not to be too amorous, but when Margaret's fingers clutched at his lapels, it was difficult not to press harder. They broke apart to draw breath and she smiled happily at the enamoured look on his face. Thornton noticed her shiver a little and glance over at the large satinwood bed.

He surprised Margaret by suddenly scooping her up into his arms and carrying her over to the bed. He laid her head on the soft pillows and tucked the sheets and finely embroidered quilts over her.

"Are you warm enough now, my love?" he inquired.

"Quite, sir," Margaret gleefully replied.

Thornton took off his robe and hung it over one of the chairs. Margaret blushed, not used to seeing gentlemen's underclothes. She admired what she could see of his musculature, but glanced away when he turned back from tending to the fire. She busied herself by propping herself up against the pillows. Thornton walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed under the covers.

"Please allow me, my love," he said softly and positioned his arm underneath her neck.

Margaret affectionately snuggled against him, resting her head against his shoulder, "I love you, too, John."

Thornton could hear the anxiety in his wife's voice. It would be quite natural for her to worry at such a time, even if she had not been through a terrible ordeal. Thornton sought to calm her nerves. He never wanted Margaret to be afraid of his advances.

He twisted his arm slightly so that he could run his fingers through her luscious hair. "What was your favourite part of the ceremony, my dearest?" he asked.

Margaret had been touched by Hannah's efforts while she had recovered from her ordeal. She had been delighted by her London family's kindnesses to John. There were so many things that had warmed her heart.

"Can you not think of a favourite part of the ceremony, my love?" Thornton teased her, his lips brushing against her ear.

"I believe that it was when you placed this on my finger." Margaret held up her hand to admire the elegant gold band. It shone in the candlelight.

Thornton shifted so that he could once more kiss her lips. Her response was tentative at first, but she soon showed him her devotion by becoming more passionate. It was when Thornton placed his legs on either side of her that Margaret froze. He stopped kissing her at once and anxiously asked if he had hurt her.

"No, no," Margaret whispered, "I am quite..."

"Do not tell me that you are 'quite well'," Thornton said hoarsely, returning to his side of the bed, "Did I frighten you?"

"I am so sorry, John," Margaret murmured sadly, "My mind just played a trick on me is all. Do not be too grieved by it. I do so want to please you."

She returned to his open arms and laid her head against his chest. It was comforting to feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. Thornton brushed kisses across her forehead while she regained her composure.

"Do I ask too much to know how your mind 'played a trick' on you?" he eventually asked.

"I do not wish to upset you," Margaret mumbled, "It is all in the past. I assure you that I am quite cross with myself!"

"You were remembering how roughly... those... rogues handled you," Thornton surmised and he felt Margaret nod against his chest. Thornton's only consolation was that her kidnappers could no longer harm her and she was safe in his arms. "We do not need to consummate our vows tonight, my love. I am honoured just to hold you."

"Oh, John," Margaret sighed, "I do not deserve you!" She propped herself up on her elbows and kissed along the line of his jaw. "Of course, I wish to consummate our union. I just had this sudden image in my mind. But you are so very different. You are the best man that I have ever known. I love you so very much, John, might we not start afresh?"

"I love you, too, my dearest," Thornton replied and slowly began kissing her once more. The next time his passions intensified she welcomed them joyfully.

His tender caresses and loving attentions soon made her forget her unfortunate recollections.

**The End**

**A/N: Thanks for reading**


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